Yesterday's Headlines
by Ostrich on a Rampage
Summary: After receiving news about Jack and Crutchie's voyage across the ocean, Katherine must find new strength within herself to continue on. But, where can light and hope be found in a world so utterly and irrevocably dark? Sequel to Making Tomorrow's Headlines.


**Well, here it is. This one is for Anjion, Thepopcornpup, Bookluv, and anyone else who was interested in a sequel for Making Tomorrow's Headlines (which I do recommend reading first; it'll make more sense that way). I finally sat down and wrote it. And, look, a one-shot! Betcha never saw that coming. Once again, I hope you enjoy this one.**

* * *

Katherine Kelly tiredly leaned back in an arm chair, running a hand through her chestnut hair. She couldn't wait until Jack finally got back from England. The combined yearnings of attention from both Elizabeth and the new baby was driving Katherine to the end of her rope. Medda Larkin had offered to watch the children for an afternoon while Katherine rested, giving her a much needed break. She had received a telegram from Jack a couple days earlier assuring her that he and Crutchie were on their way across the vast ocean back to New York.

She smiled at the small piece of paper in her hand, smoothing out the wrinkles that had been acquired due to her constant handling of the note. It was stupid, really, but at the moment, this was the closest connection she had to Jack and she missed him more than she was willing to admit. Katherine understood how important it was for Jack to travel to England for his career, but she selfishly wished he had stayed behind with her, at least until their son had been born. Or, at least that he had allowed her to go with him, instead of bringing Crutchie along.

Not that Katherine had been surprised at Jack's announcement that Crutchie would be joining him in his venture to England. When they had first gotten engaged, Davey had joked that Katherine was marrying Crutchie just as much as she was marrying Jack. It was true. Although Crutchie technically had his own apartment a few doors down from Jack and Katherine's, the younger man practically lived at their place. Katherine had quickly become accustomed to setting out an extra plate for Crutchie, who would always sheepishly take it and thank Katherine for dinner.

A soft knock at the door, pulled Katherine out of her thoughts, and she quickly rose to let whoever was in. She opened the door, coming face to face with a short, young Italian man with shaggy black hair and a moustache that looked as if had been aided in its appearance by a black marker upon the upper lip. "Mrs. Kelly?" the boy asked softly.

"Yes. How can I help you?" Katherine asked, allowing the man inside.

"I work with Crutchie, at the restaurant. Guiseppe's. It's that Italian place, down the street. Not that great of food, but it's cheap. Oh, and the breadsticks are okay, but my grandmother used to make—and you know what? You don't care about that. Anyway, my name is George. George Viviani. Um, hi."

Katherine blinked at the man. "Hi," she responded, unsure of what to make of this short man who had just appeared at her doorstep.

"I guess… Uh, I guess, you want to know what I'm doing here."

"A little bit," Katherine admitted.

"You know Crutchie? I mean, of course you know Crutchie. He's best friends with Jack. Yeah, so they're in England right now. Or they were. But, they just left." George glanced up at Katherine, before looking back at the ground. "I'm guessing that you already know all of this."

Katherine nodded. "I did get a telegram from Jack."

"What did it say?" George asked eagerly.

Katherine squinted at the smaller man. "Why do you want to know?" she asked, suspiciously. He looked somewhat familiar and Katherine believed that he probably did work with Crutchie at that awful restaurant, but she had no idea why he would want to know what Jack had written her.

"I'm just, uh, checking against a telegram I received from Crutchie."

"Checking what?"

"If Crutchie lied or if he—Ma'am, did Jack mention what ship they were taking?"

"No, he didn't."

"Oh," George said softly, his shoulders noticeably deflating. "I had hoped—Crutchie was a really great friend to me and I'm sure he was just bragging—I mean, maybe they didn't actually end up—It's possible, I'm sure—"

Katherine interrupted George's disjointed rambling. "What are you talking about?"

"I got a telegram from Crutchie a couple days ago and—" George cut himself off, pulling a crumpled piece of paper out of his pocket. "Just read it."

Taking the telegram, Katherine quickly scanned the short message.

JUST GOT TICKETS BACK TO NY STOP WILL BE ON THE TITANIC STOP SO EXCITED STOP TELL YOU ABOUT IT SOON STOP

CRUTCHIE

"I don't understand," Katherine admitted, rereading the message again. It seemed normal, just an average bit of over-excitement that Crutchie was prone too.

"You—you don't recognize the name of the ship?" George asked.

"The _Titanic_? No—I mean, it sounds familiar, but I don't know why."

George sighed. "See, I like ships. Crutchie knew that, which is why he sent me that telegram. He knew I'd be excited about them going on the _Titanic_. Jealous, even. It was a beautiful ship, unsinkable, they said. Her maiden voyage would be from England to America and she was the talk around all the shipyards. Everyone wanted to be her crew."

Hesitatingly, Katherine asked, "Why are you using past tense?" She had caught on to the strange use of verb tense about halfway through George's explanation and she couldn't shake a strange, dark premonition that had settled into the pit of her stomach.

"See, I just saw it in the newspaper this morning. I wanted to check with you, see if Jack had said anything else, that maybe they had ended up missing the ship or deciding to take a different one, but if he didn't say anything—I mean, maybe I'm overthinking everything, but it just feels eerily true and I just want it to be—be not true, you know?"

"No, I don't know. What are you talking about, George?"

The young Italian man stood there for a moment, silent, staring at the ground. Eventually, he glanced up at Katherine. "The _Titanic_ sunk early Monday morning."

"It—what?" Katherine asked, feeling the blood drain out of her face.

"Hit an iceberg, they're saying. Completely submerged before the _Carpathia_ could even get there."

"But, there are lifeboats. There are safety precautions. People would be fine," Katherine asserted, though the words felt bitter and false on her tongue.

George sadly shook his head. "They didn't have enough. Lots of people died. So much that they—they don't have a complete count of the…casualties. The paper said—"

"No, that can't be true."

"It sunk so quickly; there wasn't time."

"But, Jack, he couldn't be—"

"I don't know. Crutchie said they were going to be on that ship. If they were, then—" George trailed off, shrugging. He glanced at his feet, slowly scuffing the floor. "It just ain't fair that Crutchie'd be killed that young."

"They aren't dead!" Katherine shouted, jolting George's eyes back up to her. "They can't be," she continued much quieter. "I would know. I would _know_."

Softly, George said, "They were only allowing women and children on the lifeboats. Most men didn't—"

"You're wrong," Katherine told George. "You're wrong and I want you to leave."

"I'm sorry. I really am. Crutchie was one of my, well, maybe he was my only friend. No one else really wanted to listen to me or talk to me, but Crutchie, he—well, I'm glad we worked together. He didn't care that I tripped over my words or messed up what I was saying, he—"

Katherine glared at George, cutting him off with words spoken in a dangerous hiss. "I told you to leave."

George nodded mournfully. "Yes, ma'am. Have a good—no… I don't know. I wish I could—Just—just, goodbye." With that stuttered farewell, George took his leave, softly closing the door behind him.

As soon as the younger Italian man had left, Katherine sunk into the arm chair. George was wrong. He had to be wrong. There was just no way that Jack could be dead. Not when she had just had a son, not when they had a young family. Not now. "Please," Katherine pleaded, "please, just let him be alive." Selfishly, Katherine realized that she'd prefer anyone, all the passengers of that blasted ship to be dead, if it meant Jack was alive. Even Crutchie. The thought was cruel and unwarranted, but true nonetheless. Katherine was selfish and she'd be able to get past Crutchie's untimely death if Jack was alive. "Take anyone you want," Katherine whispered, unsure if she was attempting communication with a Higher Being, or simply pleading to the ends of the universe to spare her husband. "Take _anyone_ , just let Jack be alive. Just let Jack come home again."

A soft knock pulled Katherine away from those bitter fears and, for a moment, she thought it would be George, returning to tell her more cruel facts about the sinking of the _Titanic_ and the supposed death of her husband. Glancing at the clock on the wall, Katherine realized that it was much later than she had thought and that it was, most likely, Medda Larkin, returning her children. Jack's children. Katherine felt her heart lurch. What if they would never see their father again?

Katherine slowly answered the door and Medda's bright smile dropped at the sight of Katherine. "Are you okay, darling?" Medda asked. Elizabeth darted inside the house, making a mad dash to her collection of dolls. Katherine took no notice to her daughter's actions, staring at her son in Medda's arms. Would Jack ever hold his son?

"George… One of Crutchie's coworkers at Giuseppe's stopped by…" Katherine began. "He—he had this telegram that Crutchie had sent him, before they left England. It said that they were going to sail home on… It said they'd be on the _Titanic_."

"Oh," Medda said softly.

"You know about—about the ship? About what happened?"

Medda nodded. "I saw it in the papers this morning." Medda fell silent for a moment, before saying, "Katherine, I'm not going to give you false hope. Your husband may not have survived that voyage. And if that is true, then you are going to need to be strong. You need to be strong for your children, yes, but also for yourself. If—and I desperately hope this is untrue—but if Jack has passed on, you must not forget that you still have countless friends and family who will help you through this most difficult time."

"I know," Katherine whispered weakly. "But," she added, brightly, although Medda was able to see through the faux cheerfulness, "Jack might be okay. He might not have even gotten on the ship. Maybe he and Crutchie were delayed, or the tickets ran out before Jack could get any. They might just be… fine…" Katherine trailed off, her hope running low. She didn't need Medda to tell her what she already knew; if Jack was fine, he would have sent her another telegram. As horrific as it was, the thought that her husband was dead was becoming more realistic, more inescapable.

"Do you want me to stay the night with you? Help with the children?" Medda asked.

Katherine shook her head. "No, it's fine. You've got a show tonight."

"I can cancel," Medda pointed out.

"No, really—" Katherine paused, falling silent for a few long moments, before beginning again. "Do you know what the stupidest part is? I was going to wait for Jack to return so we could name our son together and now—" Katherine's words disappeared as she choked back a sob.

"You can still name your son together," Medda said, gently leading Katherine to the arm chair and handing her her child. "Just because he isn't in this world anymore, does not mean he isn't with you. I know that this isn't what you want to hear and I know that it isn't the same, but Jack will always be a part of you, a part of this world. He'll be the young, nameless boy selling papers on the street corner, the rustle of fall leaves in the wind, the way the moon always manages to find a gap in the clouds to shine its light on the small people of this world. He'll always be there; you just need to learn to look for him."

Katherine took a shuddering breath, gazing down at her son. "Is it… Is it stupid if I want to name him after Jack?"

"Not at all," Medda reassured the younger woman, resting her hand on Katherine's shoulder, a sign of the support she would provide for the rest of their lives.

Katherine smiled down at her son, laughing a little. "Jack would hate that. Would never want his son running around answering to his name. I know what you'd want, so I guess we can compromise," she said, her voice thick with sorrow. "Christopher Jack Kelly. Will that work, Jack?" She pulled her child closer to her heart, listening for some reassurance from Jack, something to tell her that this was right.

Just at that moment, Elizabeth came hobbling in on the crutch she had gotten a year earlier. "Mother, watch what I can do!" She proceeded to race across the room, using the crutch in lieu of putting weight on her right foot. "Just like Uncle Crutchie!" she announced proudly.

"Just like Uncle Crutchie," Katherine agreed, tears misting at her eyes. "Thank you, Jack. Thank you."

Unable to contain her curiosity, Medda questioned, "Christopher?"

"Crutchie's real name," Katherine explained, watching her daughter and clutching her son.

"Christopher Jack Kelly," Medda said, trying the name out on her tongue. "It sounds... right."

* * *

There was a double funeral hosted for Jack and Crutchie, which seemed the most fitting. "They were inseparable in life and in death," Davey had remarked at the start of his eulogy and the words had echoed through Katherine's heart throughout the entire service. He had given a stirring eulogy about the power of friendship and how death couldn't truly take Jack and Crutchie away. "Not when we still have our memories. Not when they remain in our hearts," Davey had said, concluding.

It felt as if the entire city of New York had come out to attend the funeral. All the past and present newsies had come from all across New York. Spot Conlon, Katherine noticed, was there, Brooklyn in tow. All the boys she had become friends with during the strike had shown up, faces hardened against their grief. The past newsies came because they knew Jack and Crutchie. The present newsies came because they wished they had.

Giuseppe's had been closed for the day and all the employees had been in attendance. Katherine, upon spotting George, stiff and uncomfortable in a suit, had gone up and hugged him. "Thank you for—for telling me. I'm glad I heard it from you and not—Just, thank you, George."

"I wish I had been wrong," George simply muttered, scuffing his newly polished black shoes in the grass.

"If you ever need anything, do not hesitate to ask. You'll always be welcome at my home."

"Thank you," George said softly, before walking away from Katherine and moving closer to where Davey had set up pictures of Jack and Crutchie. He spent a few minutes staring at their pictures, before he left. Katherine never saw George again and always wondered what happened to the young Italian.

Almost all the employees at the World had shown up for the funeral. A couple came because they had actually been friends with Jack, but the majority only made an appearance to please Joe Pulitzer, who had come in support of Katherine.

Medda Larkin and a train of vaudeville performers came, although the great majority of them were frowned at and mocked by some of the more pretentious employees of the World. Although they were some of the more shunned of the funeral attendees, they had some of the nicest things to say to Katherine about Jack.

Even President Theodore Roosevelt himself came to the funeral, much to the surprise of everyone. He only had the kindest things to say about Jack Kelly.

"Can you imagine what Jack and Crutchie'd think about this?" Race had remarked after the funeral was over and the majority of the attendees had left. Only Jack and Crutchie's closest friends remained.

"I couldn't even count how many people showed up," Les piped up.

"All that fancy schooling for nothing," Romeo pointed out. "Ya couldn't even count all those people."

"And you could?" Les challenged.

"Yeah," Romeo bit back, pointing at newsies as he counted, "One, two, skip a few, too many."

"Thank you all for coming," Katherine quickly interjected before the newsies could get into an argument.

Specs shrugged. "Why wouldn't we? They was our friends, too."

"Yeah, and if you ever needs anything, just holler and we'se gonna be right there for you," Race promised. "Dontcha ever feel like you're alone. You've got us guys."

"Thank you," Katherine repeated. "I'll be fine, though."

"You is the king of New York," Race reminded her, grinning. "If anyone would be fine, it'd be you."

"Still," Davey added, "the offer still holds. If you ever need anything, _anything_ , you just get one of us. We'll be there for you."

The group of newsies, her brothers, each hugged her, wishing her the best and offering condolences that, though meant well, would never, could never bring back her Jack. After they had parted, Katherine was left alone, staring at the pictures of Jack and Crutchie. There were headshots of both men, smiling, and then a picture of the two of them standing with each other. Crutchie was almost bowed over with laughter in the picture and Jack had an arm around the younger man's neck, his eyes crinkled with joy and humor. They were immortalized there, forever mirthful, forever carefree. Katherine was jealous of the pair. Death truly only hurt the survivors, never the victims.

A small tug at her skirt, tore Katherine's gaze from the pictures. "Mother?" Elizabeth began, "Can I ask a question?"

"Yes, dear."

"Is father not coming home? Someone said he left us."

"Oh, Elizabeth," Katherine said, bending and hugging her young daughter. "You father would never leave you. He won't be with us anymore, not living with us, but he'll be here," Katherine said, gently touching where Elizabeth's heart was, "and here," she concluded, pressing her hand against her own heart.

"Why?"

Katherine sighed. She hadn't really been looking forward to this conversation, but knew that Elizabeth understood enough to need some explanation. "Your father and Uncle Crutchie are up in Heaven now, they won't be down here with us." Katherine never thought of herself as a religious woman, but she needed to tell Elizabeth something comforting.

"Is Heaven nice?"

"I'd like to think so."

Elizabeth nodded thoughtfully. "With cookies and milk every day?"

"Probably," Katherine reassured her daughter, grinning at the thought.

"I'm glad father and Uncle Crutchie are up there together. It might be lonely to have cookies by yourself all the time."

Blinking back tears, Katherine agreed, "I'm glad they're there together, too." Elizabeth had presented an interesting notion, one Katherine had never considered. She had known Jack and Crutchie for over a decade now and she had never really thought about what would happen if one or the other would die. There had been that brief time during the strike that Crutchie had been captured and taken to the Refuge, and even that separation had nearly driven Jack mad with distraction. But, there had always been the knowledge that Crutchie was alive, though trapped in a hellish place, and the hope that Jack could get Crutchie out of there. Death was different; there was no hope, only grief. She honestly didn't know if Jack would have been able to survive Crutchie's death, if his friend had died before him. Or vice versa. Davey truly had spoken the truth: neither life nor death would separate the pair. Did that make them lucky?

"Don't cry, mother. We can have cookies and milk, too, with father and Uncle Crutchie."

"What a good idea, Elizabeth. Shall we go get Christopher and see if he wants some?"

"That's silly. Babies don't eat cookies."

Katherine laughed, relishing in that simple action that had been missing from her life for too long, it seemed. "You're right. Babies don't eat cookies. How did you get so smart?" Katherine asked, picking up her daughter and balancing her on her right hip.

"You're so smart," Elizabeth explained seriously. "That's what father would say."

"Let's just go get Christopher."

"Maybe he'll be so smart, too. So far, though, he hasn't been so smart. Are all babies not so smart? Mother?"

Katherine nodded for Elizabeth's benefit, even though she hadn't really been listening to what her daughter was babbling about. "Let's just get Christopher," Katherine repeated. If she focused on one task at a time, she could almost forget. But, no—no, she would never forget.

* * *

It had been almost a week after the funeral and things were beginning to return to normal, as much as they could. Medda Larkin was over nearly every day, just to help Katherine with Elizabeth and Christopher. Elizabeth was handling Jack and Crutchie's death much better than Katherine. When she would have tea parties with her dolls, Elizabeth would ask for extra plates because "father and Uncle Crutchie like tea, too." Elizabeth acted as if the men were still there, just as they always had been.

Katherine, however, did not have the luxury of pretending.

It was just an average Wednesday: Katherine had just put a loaf of bread in the oven and had settled Christopher down for a nap when the knock at the door came. Katherine expected it to be another person who had known Jack or Crutchie and "oh, wasn't it so horrific" and "I'm very, very sorry" and "wouldn't you like this casserole I made?" Not that casseroles could ever bring Jack and Crutchie back. She pulled open the door, coming face to face with a woman probably five years younger than her. She had dark brown hair and green eyes that darted anxiously from Katherine's face, into the apartment, to the floor, and back to Katherine. "Can I help you?" Katherine asked.

"I'm Eliza. Uh, Eliza Townsend," the woman said, extending her hand to shake Katherine's. Katherine made no move to reciprocate the gesture and Eliza quickly lowered her hand. "Is this—is this where Crutchie lived? Or—Or Jack Kelly?"

"I…" Katherine hesitated, considering what verb to utilize. "I am Jack's wife." Death didn't make her not his wife.

Eliza nodded, but seemed unsure of how to respond to that. "I was, uh, on the _Titanic_ with Jack and Crutchie. We…we were friends."

Katherine gaped at the woman who claimed to have known Jack and Crutchie. "You were there?" She had thought that she would never know what Jack experienced, what it was like. Suddenly, envy reared it's spiteful head and Katherine spat, "What makes you so special to have escaped?"

"I don't know. I—I had just left Crutchie and—oh, and Jack—and that's when I ran into a woman who had two young boys and she said the ship was sinking and that I had to get out of there and I was so scared I didn't even think—" Eliza squeezed her eyes shut. "I watched the ship sink from the lifeboat I was in and just as it went under, I remembered—I never even warned Crutchie. I—I just left him there, playing cards with Jack and the boys and I don't know if they ever knew it was sinking or if they just… I don't deserve life any more than Crutchie or Jack; I don't understand why I was spared and they…weren't."

Katherine itched to bite out some comment about how her stupidity was the reason her husband was dead, but the words wouldn't come. Instead, she found herself asking, "You were friends?"

"They were the only people I knew on the ship."

"If…" Katherine trailed off, wondering what she was doing. This woman was partially at fault for her husband's death. Right? "If I make you some coffee, would you be willing to tell me… What was my husband experiencing, in his last days?"

Eliza nodded. "I'll tell you all I know."

Katherine guided Eliza to the dining table, and quickly put a pot of water to boil. Sitting down across from Eliza, Katherine gestured for her to begin talking. "Well?" she asked. "How did you meet?"

Eliza laughed, a hint of bitterness mocking the noise. "There was a line to get into the ship. I was just standing there. See, I needed to start a new life and had decided to go to America and had chosen the _Titanic_ to get there. Which was very unlucky, but… At the same time, I'm—well, I'm almost glad I was there. Anyway, I was in line and I was just standing there, minding my own business, and something hard slams into my back. I thought someone was just being a jerk and I turned around and there are these two men, one on the ground, with a crutch and a suitcase—which, I gathered had hit me—and the other helping him up. That was how we met. Crutchie was so flustered; I guess he had tripped and hit me. Jack was more collected and I could tell he was trying not to laugh at Crutchie. It was the start of a friendship, however short it may have been.

"I sat by them for dinner, later that night. I'm going to be completely honest with you, Mrs. Kelly. I—I sorta liked Crutchie. And it was so stupid, because I had just met him earlier that day and we hadn't even had the opportunity to talk, but it just felt right. I'm not a believer in love at first sight, but this—that…that may have been…love." Eliza shrugged, laughing bitterly, "Not that I'll ever really know. That didn't exactly work out for me."

Katherine smiled slightly. "You liked Crutchie?"

"I mean…yes." Eliza nodded sadly. "Yes, I did." After a soft sigh, Eliza continued, "I only knew him for a few short days and it just was perfect. We'd go to the dances, walk around the ship, just talked…we talked a lot. And then—he was still on that ship. I just sat and watched; I watched the man I—I loved die. I sat there and there was nothing I could do and I know he was there, dying and I just wish I could've been there with him."

Katherine gently set a cup of coffee before Eliza. "I understand."

"And you know the stupidest thing?" Eliza said, shaking her head. "I'm always wondering what Crutchie was thinking—right before…you know. And it's so selfish, but I want him to have been thinking about me." Eliza huffed out a sad laugh. "It's just so…so self-centered."

Abruptly changing the subject, Katherine asked, "What are your plans now?"

"I'm sorry?"

"You said you wanted to start a new life in America. Well? What's your plan now?"

Eliza shrugged. "I don't know. I hadn't really thought…after—I just wanted to meet people who had known Crutchie, but I haven't really considered what to do next. I had wanted to work for a newspaper. I'd hope to be an actual writer, but I haven't had much experience, so—" Eliza trailed off as Katherine began to laugh. "What's so funny?"

"It's just awfully convenient, the way people run into each other. I'm chief editor at the World. I could help you find a job there, if you want."

"No, I couldn't possibly—" Eliza protested.

Katherine shook her head. "You need some sort of job here; New York is expensive. Take my offer. Come work for the World, at least until you can get to whatever you want to do. It would be a pleasure to work with you."

Eliza stared at Katherine for a moment, before grinning slightly. "You're not going to take 'no' for an answer, are you."

"Probably not."

"I can see how you and Jack would make an excellent couple." Realizing that she had probably just brought up a whole collection of bad memories, Eliza quickly tried to cover up her mistake. "I mean—"

"It's okay. We were. We _are_. Sometimes, it feels like he's still here. Or any minute he's going to come through that door, laughing at some comment Crutchie had just made. They say that death doesn't ever truly take someone away from you and I always chalked that phrase up to wishful sentimentality, but sometimes... Sometimes, I have to wholeheartedly agree. Jack won't ever be completely gone until I'm gone."

"They'll live on in our memories, our actions," Eliza agreed.

"To Jack," Katherine said, raising her mug of coffee.

"To Crutchie."

* * *

Over a month had passed since the fateful day that the _Titanic_ sank, taking two of New York's beloved ex-newsies with it. It had been hard to fall back into the swing of things, but Katherine was finally feeling as if the world was turning back to normalcy. Or, at least as normal as things could ever get. She didn't think she would ever get used to having the bed all to herself ever again, often finding herself staring at Jack's pillow, trying to remember how Jack's face had looked, relaxed with sleep, or what his ever-present snores had sounded like.

Elizabeth had taken to moodily clutching one of Jack's old jackets. Katherine had tried to explain to Elizabeth about the milk and cookies, remembering how well Elizabeth had taken to that concept, but the young girl would have none of that. "Well, father could have cookies with us. You make good cookies, so he should have cookies with us." Nothing Katherine could say would assuage her daughter's hurt feelings. "Does father not love us?" Elizabeth had even asked one day, much to Katherine's dismay.

"Of course!" Katherine had exclaimed. "He just can't be with us anymore." Elizabeth had promptly burst into tears and Katherine had gathered her in her arms, holding the young child. "Your father loved you more than anything in the world."

"I just want him to tuck me in again," Elizabeth had confessed, sniffing loudly in Katherine's ear.

"I know, honey. It's hard, but you've still got me and Christopher."

Elizabeth had immediately complained, "Yeah, but Christopher doesn't do nothing!"

"Doesn't do anything," Katherine had gently corrected. "Not yet, but he will. And he'll need a good older sister to show him everything."

"Like the best swings in the park?"

"Exactly."

Since that conversation, Elizabeth had seemed more accepting of her father's death, but Katherine wasn't entirely sure that the four year old truly understood what had happened and what it meant. Katherine watched Elizabeth as she flipped through the pages of an old newspaper, babbling incoherently about whatever she believed she was "reading." Her attention was drawn away from her child when there was a knock at the door. Katherine expected it to be Eliza, who had moved in a few doors down from Katherine—into the room right beside where Crutchie had lived, not that Katherine would tell Eliza, who still felt guilty about leaving the two men on the sinking ship—so, she was greatly surprised to find herself face to face with a postman. "Mrs. Jack Kelly?" the man asked in a monotone voice, looking overwhelmingly bored.

"Uh, y-yes," Katherine stuttered. The use of her late husband's name still continued to throw her for a small loop.

"Package," the man said, thrusting a large wooden box in her direction. "Sign here," he instructed, pulling out a crinkled receipt.

"I don't understand—" Katherine began, signing for the package she had not expected.

"Someone shipped you something from," the post man paused to look at the tag, "England. And they even paid for it to be hand-delivered. Here it is. Any other questions or may I go?" the man asked impatiently.

Katherine nodded her head, then quickly shook it. "I mean, no I don't have any questions. Have a good day."

"Likewise." With that parting word, the man tipped his hat in her direction and left.

Elizabeth looked up when Katherine put the box on the table. "Did mother get a present?" Elizabeth asked.

"I don't know," Katherine told her daughter.

"Are you gonna open it?"

"Yes." Katherine was about to pry the box open with a hammer she had left on the kitchen counter after hanging up pictures of Jack—and Crutchie, since he was in nearly all of them—around the house, when she noticed a small envelope taped to the side of the box. It was addressed Mrs. Jack Kelly in soft calligraphy. Curiously, Katherine opened up the letter, quickly reading the short message.

 _Dear Mrs. Jack Kelly,_

 _I do apologize that I do not know your name. If young Mr. Kelly mentioned it in my presence, I have since forgotten. I just heard about that awful shipwreck and my prayers and thoughts go to you. The younger one, Crutchie, did not have a wife, correct? If he did and I have forgotten that detail, please pass along my condolences to her also. I am sure that you are wondering who I am and how I knew your husband and his friend. They stayed at my home in England for the extent of their trip. It was a pleasure to get to know them, even if it was not for very long. Both were excellent men. You are a lucky woman, to have met and married Mr. Kelly._

 _On one of his final days here, Mr. Kelly told me that you had recently given birth to your first son. I believe that this belongs to you much more than it would ever belong to me._

 _Best wishes,_

 _Mrs. Mae Witherby_

Katherine, now exceedingly curious about the package that Mrs. Witherby had only briefly mentioned, pried the box open. She pulled out a large canvas, holding it outstretched to survey the picture. "Oh, Jack," was all Katherine could say, as she took in the painting.

It was expertly painted, the strokes made with as much love as precision. Katherine gazed at the painting, taking in each small mark and how they molded together to create art. Instantly, Katherine had known what Jack had painted. It was a mother with chestnut hair gazing down at a small child in her arms. Even though Jack had never seen his son, the boy in the picture looked almost identical to the child that was napping in the other room. Katherine felt tears pricking at the corner of her eyes as she took in the symbol of Jack's undying love for the son he would never meet.

"Oh, Jack," Katherine repeated. "I love you."

* * *

 **Oh. Wow. That was sad. Well... Um... *shrugs* Sorry?**


End file.
